13 Gifts for 13 Gardeners
by Tulip Proudfoot
Summary: Sam & Rose Gamgee's children receive gifts from their long-departed Uncle Frodo (COMPLETE)
1. The Study

Story title: Thirteen Gifts for Thirteen Gardeners Rating: G Subject: General Main characters: Frodo Baggins, Samwise Gamgee  
  
Date: S.R. 1482  
  
Chapter 1: The Study  
  
"Are you sure it's in here, Elanor?" the dark-haired younger hobbit asked. "I've looked through Dad's desk a couple of times already, and I couldn't find it." He was dressed in his finest dark brown suit; black armband tied around his left sleeve.  
  
"Yes, I'm sure, Robin" the golden-haired middle-aged hobbitwife said. "Dad gave me instructions on how to find the secret compartment in his writing desk. You have to take out this little drawer, and slide this one over to the right, and then lift up this lid." She concentrated on getting the right combination of movements in order to unlock the secret drawer, her beautiful light blue eyes squinting into the dark corners of the writing desk.  
  
"Here, let me see," demanded another lass with sandy-brown curls. Rose pushed through the small gathering of relatives to stand next to her elder sister. "Well, I'll be. I never knew the drawers could side sideways! And to think how many hours I've spent at this desk!"  
  
"Ah! Success!" said Elanor. She lifted out a thin section of polished hardwood and reached inside the hidden compartment. Out came the key they were all expecting. It was an old key. An ancient key. The kind made out of iron and with several intricately made knobs and flanges. A small, thin red ribbon was attached to the key.  
  
The others gathered round as the object of their hunt was passed among them. There were fourteen hobbits crowded into the little study. Thirteen siblings and one husband. Long had they desired to find this family treasure. It was the key to the only room in the grand smial of Bag End which was completely off-limits to them for as long as any of them could remember. The room only their father visited. The now-legendary Frodo Baggins's bedroom.  
  
"Hey! There's something else in there." A beautiful hobbit with reddish hair reached into the desk's secret compartment and pulled out a carefully folded letter. She opened it and tears came to her soft brown eyes. "It's from Daddy," she whispered.  
  
"What's it say, Daisy?" Pippin asked. He was also dressed in his best formal outfit and clearly uncomfortable in the starched grey suit. He was rather more used to comfortable work clothes of his rope and furniture making trade. Pippin could read, though not very well, and preferred to have someone else read for him. He was a hobbit of his hands rather than his brains.  
  
Several of Samwise and Rose Gamgee's children sat down on the old chairs in their father's study. Daisy turned so that the soft light filtering into the room through the old round leaded window could illumine the letter. She cleared her tight throat and began to read:  
  
"Dearest children,  
  
This is the key to your Uncle Frodo's bedroom. I have kept the room locked for all these years for a purpose known only to myself. When Uncle Frodo went over the Sea more than sixty years ago, he also left a number of items for you all. I might have given them to you earlier, but I did not think it was the appropriate time.  
  
I never could bring myself to disturb anything in his room, including his gifts to you. But I have a confession. I did read his letters which were addressed to you individually. Please forgive your old sentimental Father in this transgression. I was trying to preserve my memories of my dearest friend. It was selfish of me, but then again, I always was very jealous of who had access to my Frodo.  
  
Know then that I have neither added nor subtracted anything from his room, nor from the letters. And I never let anyone else into the room; not even your mother, though it vexed her mightily."  
  
"I know it vexed Mother," Merry snorted. "I remember Dad going into that room each Friday evening after work, taking a glass of wine and locking the door behind him."  
  
"Right," a young lass dressed in formal mourning black smiled at the memory. "Mom would always rage about the kitchen for the hour Dad was in that room." Primrose smiled wistfully at the memory of her beloved mother. "But then he would come out and all was forgiven. It never changed, week after week."  
  
"Wait a minute," Bilbo said. "Are you sure you read that correctly, Daisy? How could Mister Frodo have written letters to each of us, when he left before we were even born?" Bilbo was the only male hobbit of the clan to have also inherited the blonde hair. It made him seem slightly older than his real years.  
  
Daisy handed the letter to the brown-haired hobbit standing next to her. "Here, you read it, Hammie."  
  
Hamfast tilted the letter a little to better catch the light and read it again.  
  
".I did read his letters which were addressed to you individually.."  
  
"There it is, Bilbo," Hamfast said. "Plain as daylight."  
  
"Great," a richly dressed middle-aged hobbit with a thin pointed nose said, "another Bag End mystery."  
  
"Hush, Faramir," an equally elegantly dressed hobbitwife with golden hair equal to her elder sister frowned at her husband. "Go on, Hammie. Read the rest of it." Goldilocks smiled sweetly at her closest brother, but also took her husband's hand and lightly kissed it. He grinned a little and raised one eyebrow.  
  
Hamfast cleared his throat:  
  
" Know then that I have neither added nor subtracted anything from his room, nor from the letters. And I never let anyone else into the room; not even your mother, though it vexed her mightily. The room is exactly as Frodo left it back in 1421.  
  
I feel the time has finally arrived for me to let go of Uncle Frodo's room, and pass along his gifts to you. Treasure them and the letters as you treasure my memory.  
  
With love, Daddy"  
  
"Frodo, I think we should keep this letter here at Bag End," the youngest hobbit said. Even though Tom was past his coming-of-age, he still lived at home with his eldest brother. They looked more like father and son than brothers, since twenty years separated the two.  
  
"I could keep it with the rest of Dad's maps and things in the medical library," a very pregnant hobbitess volunteered. Ruby was the midwife for Overhill, but was now preparing for her own labor. Her husband had not wanted her to travel to Bag End at this late stage in her pregnancy, but Ruby's stubbornness could not be brooked. More than anyone else in the East Farthing, she knew the risks of late term travel, but accepted the risks anyway. This was family matters, and the Gamgees were an unusually close family.  
  
"I like Tom's idea better," Frodo said. "I think we should keep Uncle Frodo's letters here at Bag End, if you don't mind, Ruby. Somehow it doesn't seem right for me to take anything of Uncle Frodo's out of Bag End."  
  
The Gamgee children had a standing agreement that the eldest son would continue to live at Bag End and take care of their aging parents. But now they were gone. Their beloved mother had died in her sleep earlier in the year, and now their father had left. Sam had passed the title to Bag End on to his eldest son the day that Sam departed the Shire for the Grey Havens. Frodo had traveled to the Western Holdings beneath Tower Hill, leaving his wife and children at Bag End as the siblings gathered to see their father onto the grey Elvish ship awaiting him in the harbor. Elanor had traveled back to Bag End with her brothers and sisters in order to take care of legal matters. This key was the last item of business.  
  
"Well, that's it then," Elanor matter-of-factly said. "Let's go see what's in that room." 


	2. The Bedroom

Chapter 2: The Bedroom  
  
They filed down the long curving passageway to the little bedroom oriented towards the West and Bag End's front gate. Elanor's hand trembled slightly as she placed the key in the antique lock. It opened with a soft, well- oiled 'snick.'  
  
They had always wondered what lay behind the locked door. What mysteries would be revealed when they finally entered the secret sanctuary of their father? Why was he was constantly drawn to the room of the missing owner of Bag End? And why did Sam so jealously guarded his treasures?  
  
It was a rather unremarkable room for Bag End. The great old smial held more ornate rooms. Richer rooms. Larger rooms. Rooms with better views. There was nothing overtly out of the ordinary that the siblings could see as they crowded into the quiet, medium-sized dormitory.  
  
"I thought it would be grander than this," Robin whispered to Tom.  
  
"Where's all the magic Elvish things?" Bilbo asked to no one in particular. "I always thought it would be lined with hundreds of old books and magic staffs and treasure maps." He wandered over to an oversized writing desk located against the wall closest to the door. It was not like the rather messy desk his father kept in the study. This desk was neat as a pin and its roll-top cover was down. A small candle holder and a little alabaster statue of a nude female form dancing in the surf graced the desktop. Bilbo picked up the statue and admired it. "Nice, um . artwork. Reminds me of Sally Longtunnel."  
  
Merry snickered. "I never saw her with foam about her feet."  
  
"Then it must not be her," Bilbo winked at his brother. "Must be an Elf. They like the sea. I always suspected queer old Uncle Frodo's tastes ran towards the exotic. Guess Dad didn't want us corrupted with nudity, eh?"  
  
"I thought this was where Dad kept his special wine he didn't want us getting into," Merry laughed.  
  
"Hush, you two," Primrose admonished. "It's not polite to be making jokes about Uncle Frodo." She sat on top of a large wooden chest at the foot of the bed.  
  
"Aw, come on, Penny. Lighten up." Daisy sat beside her on the chest and put her arm around her sister's waist, giving her a hug. The two had always been opposites in temperaments and interests, but loved each other fiercely all the same.  
  
The room held the usual hobbit furniture. A double sized four-poster bed rested against the wall opposite the door. Pippin went over to the bed and lovingly ran his calloused hands over the highly polished hardwood posts. "Cherry," he murmured in appreciation. "Nice, clean lines. Good stain. Wow. Look at the carvings on the top of the posts. I think I've seen some furniture like that over at the Mathom House." He sat on the bed and turned his attention to the bedclothes. At one time they must have been white, but were now faded to a soft yellow. A dark blue woolen blanket and a maroon and blue quilt were neatly folded and laid atop at the foot of the bed. Two feather pillows inside maroon and blue pillow covers matched the quilt.  
  
Frodo went over to the window. He pulled aside the deep blue velvet shades and tied them back so that sunlight flooded into the room through leaded glass. There was a crack in one pane. "Dad never opened these curtains or let me bring the glazier over to fix this window. Guess he preferred to put up with the broken glass than have a stranger into Uncle Frodo's room." Frodo ran a finger around the edge of the lead came. "Needs to be puttied too. Guess I'll have to add that to my list of things to do."  
  
"I think he knew we kids kept trying to see into the room from the outside," Rose smiled. "He never really liked sharing his Mister Frodo with anyone." She joined Pippin on the bed and settled herself into a comfortable crossed-legged position.  
  
Goldilocks eased herself into the high-backed rocking chair situated between the bed and the window. Her richly embroidered silk mourning gown was a bit of a bother to sit on in the old rocking chair, but she managed to arrange the pearls and petticoats so that they were not crushed too badly. Faramir stood beside her and waited patiently as the rest of his in- laws found places to sit or stand. "I would have thought Frodo Baggins would have had better furnishings. At least some tapestries on the walls. It's so plain in here. Why, the servants at the Great Smials have better rugs than this one."  
  
"My mother made that rug," Hamfast pointedly said. "My father told me she gave Uncle Frodo a new braided rag rug for his bedroom as a thank you gift for him taking them in when they were first married." Faramir's lips tightened and he crossed his arms, but he did not apologize for his rude remark. Hamfast had never much cared for the only son of the Thain. He had seen his sister, Goldilocks, languish in the opulence and intrigue of the Great Smials, and disapproved of the way Faramir was constantly belittling those who worked for a living.  
  
"Here, Ruby. Sit in this chair." Robin stepped aside to let his obviously pregnant sister rest in the soft reading chair located to the right of the bed.  
  
She gratefully sank into its upholstered padding, putting her swollen feet up on the ottoman. "Thank, Rob."  
  
Hamfast cautiously opened the doors to Uncle Frodo's large wardrobe next to the reading chair. Inside were some old-fashioned suits hanging on carved redwood hangers. The majority were a deep, rich maroon or chocolate brown velvet cloth, with rich silk piping and shiny antler bone buttons. Several shirts of cream color hung beside the suit jackets. Hamfast whistled quietly. "Looks as if Uncle Frodo was just here yesterday. This is a little bit creepy."  
  
Robin walked over and looked inside the wardrobe's drawers. Cloth braces and fancy handkerchiefs of all colors were neatly folded in the top-most drawer. Soft cashmere sweaters and silky nightshirts in the palest and thinnest cottons nestled inside their own compartments. He ran his hand over the smooth cool fabric. He couldn't resist picking up one of the pale heather-colored sweaters and inhaled its fragrance. A curious mixture of mothballs and honeysuckle sprang to mind. He shook out the sweater and held it up to his own chest.  
  
"Looks like you're getting another set of hand-me-downs," Hamfast smiled. "But these are really, really old hand-me-downs. They look like they might fit you, Rob."  
  
"They're a sight better hand-me-downs than what I ever got from you," Robin teased back. "At least these have their elbows intact. My colors, too."  
  
"I don't think I could wear anything that the Ringbearer wore," Primrose softly said. Conversation came to a halt. "I . I didn't mean it as a jinx or anything," she stammered in embarrassment. "I just . well, I just don't think it right somehow. It's not proper."  
  
"They're just clothes, Penny," Daisy said. "I'm sure Uncle Frodo left them there for someone to use. Dad said he never wanted to be thought of as anyone special or anything. Just a hobbit doing what any other hobbit would have done in his situation."  
  
"I couldn't have done what he did," Frodo said. "Dad said he was the bravest and most noble hobbit in all history, and that's saying a lot." For a moment the room was still and quiet with each sibling reflecting on the stories their father had told them concerning the Quest for the destruction of the Ring. Robin folded the sweater and returned it to its drawer.  
  
Bilbo opened the roll top desk and peered inside. "There's a bunch of letters in here. Looks like Dad's opened them all and read them, 'cause their seals have been broken. But he's put them back inside their envelopes. He's left them in a stack."  
  
Elanor came over. "That's Uncle Frodo's handwriting all right. It's the same script that's in the original 'Red Book' which Fastred has in the library." She picked up the topmost page.  
  
"Well, go ahead and start reading them, Elly," Pippin said.  
  
"The first one's addressed to Mom and Dad," Elanor said. 


	3. To Sam and Rose

Chapter 3: To Sam and Rose  
  
Dearest Sam and Rose,  
  
For one who is most comfortable with pen and ink in hand rather than sword or spade, I suddenly find myself at a loss for words. It is not due to lack of things to say, but rather, due to a surplus of emotions. I cannot put to paper what fills my heart to overflowing, knowing that this is the last thing I will ever say to you both.  
  
Alas, my seemingly endless wellspring of words has dried up. Yet nothing of consequence has been said. Actions do speak louder than words, and now I must go. Would that I could stay and speak to you through the years of things well-known and things forever unknowable. Of poems and songs and tales. Of the wisdom of children and the foolishness of men. Of my own great shortcomings and sadness at having to leave you. For you are my most precious possession, in so much that one person can possess another. A possession of the heart. Of love. Of forever, my lovers and friends.  
  
Would that I could be here to witness your joy and happiness. Rose, the wholeness and love you bring to our Samwise cannot be measured in gold or mithril or jewels. It is worth more to me than my own life. Thank you for being there for him, and for finding enough love in your generous heart to encompass me as well. The fruits of our love (all our love; yours, Sam's, mine) lie in your children. You will nourish them in their youth, and they will nourish you in your seniority. What better life is there?  
  
And would that I could be here to see you grow in wisdom and compassion, Samwise, my dearest friend and soul mate. You deserve to be made whole again. And if anyone in Middle Earth deserves the happiness of wife and family, you do. The Valar have blessed you to be a role-model for the Shire. Know that I leave you so that you will fulfill your great and mighty destiny. Not all Kings wear a crown. And not all Sages study the stars. Elected offices and the good earth are enough for us, dearest. You are the King and Sage of the Shire, my most beloved Sam.  
  
Of late I find myself receiving visions most peculiar. You know that the gift of insight was somehow bestowed upon me during my time of the Quest. How and why, I cannot tell. But the visions started when I first gazed into the Mirror of Galadriel in Lothlorien. I never shared my visions with anyone, save the great Lady of the Golden Woods herself, because of their disturbing nature. Sam can tell you, Rose dearest, of his own visions when gazing into the Mirror. Time and actions in the present, the past, and even different shades of the future are all visible in that Mirror. Bearing the Ring to its place of creation may have contributed to more visions for me. However, of this I cannot be certain. What I do know is that I continue to have these visions even now; even here at Bag End. Whenever I look into a mirror or a still body of water, the reflection which should be mine is of others. Other people. Other events. Other times. Sometimes I recognize the people in my visions. Sometimes I do not. But time and time again these visions turn to you and your children.  
  
I have tried to avoid mirrors and bowls of water in an effort to stop the visions and regain some normalcy in my shattered mind. But they persist. Galadriel will soon be with me, and she can help me understand. But until then, I must rely upon my own interpretations and let my heart guide my actions.  
  
For reality and visions are becoming increasingly blurred to me, and I am afraid of what I might do or fail to do, because I cannot tell the difference between the here and now, what was, and what is to come. This, and the recurring pain of my wounds, have caused me to seek the healing of the Elves in Tol Eressea. I fear that if I stay here where my heart desires, I will drown in unreality and poison. Do not be sad at my leaving. I do so of my own free choosing. A path which is difficult for me, as well as for you, oh my lovers and friends. But a path I must take for the sake of your children.  
  
Even as I write these lines I can hear little baby Elanor crying for her MaMa. Oh, golden child full of smiles and sunshine. A visible testament to the love you to share for each other, and a blessing to me in my solitude. She is my anchor in this sea of half-truths and eternal regrets. I love to hold her. To kiss her golden curls. To sing her lullabies in ancient and modern tongues of Men and Elves. I am amazed that you let me, considering that you know of my illnesses. With all my heart, thank you.  
  
I shall miss her and her many brothers and sisters most of all. But I hope I will not be completely absent from their lives. I bequeath them parting gifts, so they may remember their "Uncle Frodo" long after I have passed over the Sea. Please tell them about me, and how much I love them and their father and mother. The items mentioned with each letter are, for the most part, to be found in the trunk at the foot of my bed. Sam, dearest, I leave it up to you as to when you present each child with his or her gift.  
  
I love you all too dearly to remain and slowly die from the poison and confusion. Perhaps the Elves will be able to cure me once we have reached Tol Eressea. And perhaps we shall met again after this life's adventure is finished. Beyond the paths of Moon and Sun; beyond the Sundering Seas.  
  
Until we meet again, Frodo Baggins  
  
The children sat in silence as Elanor folded the letter and placed it back inside its envelop.  
  
"What visions did Daddy see?" Daisy asked.  
  
"Uncle Frodo wrote down some of them in the 'Red Book,'" Ruby said. "Not all of them, but a few. I remember one was of the Shire burning. Of the Water being polluted by Big Folk factories. And Dad's Gaffer being turned out from his home."  
  
"Were they true?" Tom quietly asked.  
  
Frodo nodded. "Yes. It did happen, Tommy. When I was growing up, Hobbiton and Bag End didn't have any large trees. They had all been chopped down and burned while Dad and Uncle Frodo were away on the Quest. Even the Party Tree had been chopped down. The Shire was overrun by some evil Big Folk for a few months, and they built polluting factories and destroyed most of Bag Shot Row, just like in Dad's vision. Even the Gaffer lost his home. So yes, Tommy, Dad's visions were true."  
  
"Well, we don't know for sure that those 'visions' were actual in fact, now do we?" Faramir said. "I mean, Frodo Baggins didn't write the book until after all that happened. He could have made up all that talk about the Elf Queen's magic mirror and then wrote it so that it seemed to be a prophecy."  
  
"Are you calling my Father a liar?" Primrose asked. All eyes, including that of his wife's, were directed at the interloper.  
  
"No!" Faramir backpedaled. "I would never say anything against Mayor Gamgee. I'm just saying that maybe these 'visions' came into being after the fact. That's all." Hamfast crossed his arms in disgust. "Oh, never mind," Faramir said. "Forget it."  
  
"The proof will be in the other letters," Rose quietly said. "Whose is next?"  
  
"My own," Elanor said. 


	4. To Elanor

Chapter 4: To Elanor  
  
My dearest own Elanor,  
  
Little golden child I hold in my arms. I sing lullabies to you whist rocking you to sleep:  
  
A Elbereth Gilthoniel  
Silivren penna miriel  
O menel aglar elenath!  
Na-chaered palan-diriel  
O galadhremmin ennorath,  
Fanuilos, lelinnathon  
Nefaear, si nef aearon!  
  
Your mother lets me keep you in a cradle next to my writing desk so that I can stop and play with you during breaks from writing the History of the War of the Ring. You seem to like hearing me recite some of the poetry, though you like the sound of your Uncle Tolman's penny whistle equally well. But we are inseparable, you and I. When your Mother allows it. We even take afternoon naps together, my dearest, though you are only two and I am fifty years your senior. The only one of you I shall meet in person. The Valar have blessed me by letting me know you for a little while before I leave.  
  
Lover of languages and adventures. Child of journeys both large and small. I give unto you a collection of poems titled "Laurie lantar lassi surinen." You will find it in the old wooden chest at the foot of my bed. Take care of this treasury. It comes from the great library of Imladris (or Rivendell in the Common Tongue), which, unfortunately, is gone by the time you read this. I can foresee you will never get to go to that beautiful realm, so I brought a part of it back with me to leave in your keeping.  
  
Please translate the poems into the Common Tongue so that your children may enjoy them, and the ages of the Eldar in Middle Earth are not totally forgotten. I know you will grow up to be the last hobbit to read, speak, and write in Sindarin. It falls upon you to preserve the past for those who come after us all. Keep up your letters to your friend, the Queen. She can assist you in the translations, if you become stuck on a word or phrase.  
  
The world is very wide and marvelous as you will experience as none other of your generation. Or perhaps I should say, as you HAVE experienced. I can see you in the palaces of the King and Queen of Gondor, and also in a new house near the sea. But I cannot tell which is to come first, and which follows, nor can I tell if your home is in the Shire. I think it is nearby, but not in the Shire I know. It is no matter now. But of this I am certain: You will have experiences which other hobbits will not believe. So write them down. Create your own book of tales. Illustrate the books with pictures so that even those who cannot read will understand. Teach your own children that the world is larger than the confines of the Shire, and adventures are to be embraced for their ability to broaden ones own horizons.  
  
Farewell, my beloved child of golden hair and blue eyes. I have loved you far too briefly.  
  
Namarie, Uncle Frodo  
  
Again, the room was silent as Elanor held the letter up to her cheek and closed her eyes.  
  
"It's his scent," she softly said. "I remember what he smelled like. Like. like honey and old books. I don't remember what he looked like, but I do remember this."  
  
"What's Namarie mean?" Pippin asked.  
  
"It means farewell," Ruby whispered. The others turned and looked at her in surprise. "I know a few words," she explained. "Medical words, mostly. Elly taught me 'namarie' though."  
  
Daisy and Primrose got off of the chest and opened it up. Inside were several gift wrapped items. On top was a package done up in golden wrapping paper, tied with a blue ribbon and labeled "To Elanor" in Frodo's handwriting. Daisy handed the package to her eldest sister and re-closed the chest. "I don't want to spoil anyone's surprise," she whispered to Primrose.  
  
"Go on, Elly," Merry said. "Open it up."  
  
Elanor carefully untied the ribbon and removed the wrapping paper. It was a rather large book; oversized for smaller hobbit hands. The original scribe was evidently an Elf, as the book's size lent itself to someone of their stature. The book was bound in soft, velvety red leather, with gold embossing and thin slivers of precious mithril embedded into a sensuous leaf design on the outer cover. "Laurie lantar lassi surinen." Elanor read aloud the title as her hands caressed the precious volume.  
  
"What's it mean, Elly?" Goldilocks asked.  
  
"It's the first line of a poem about the Elves longing for their home in Valinor beyond the Sundering Sea," Elanor whispered. "Queen Arwen used to sing it to me when I was one of her handmaidens at court. I remember it, or at least parts of it. So lovely. So sad. All Elvish and mysterious and beautiful." She looked up with tears shinning in her blue eyes. "That was so long ago. I think I had almost forgotten it. I never asked for a book of poetry to take back home with me when I was staying at the handmaid's suite, even though I had access to the Great Library on the Sixth Level." She turned to her brother Frodo and lightly shook her head. "How could he know I would travel to Gondor with Mom and Dad? How could he know I now live beyond the Shire on the edge of the Sea?"  
  
"Guess that settles the question of visions," Hamfast said, pointedly not looking at Faramir.  
  
"It's the perfect gift," Elanor quietly said to herself as she thumbed through the book. "I'll never forget you, Uncle Frodo. Never."  
  
"Who's next?" Robin inquired.  
  
"Frodo," said Bilbo, who had taken over from Elanor at the desk. "The next letter is addressed to Frodo-lad."  
  
"My nickname," Frodo said as he walked over. "Uncle Frodo left before I was born. How.? Oh, never mind. Let me see that letter." 


	5. To Frodolad

Chapter 5: To Frodo-lad  
  
My dearest namesake, Frodo,  
  
Forgive my conceit at calling you by a nickname. My father also calls me by that name, so I have fond memories of its sound. I deliberately mix up the verbs, since I am looking at him as I gaze into the little mirror on my chest of drawers. He smiles, holds out his arms, and calls my name: Frodo-lad. Yes, Father. I'm coming. I shant be long. And there I am also, in the mirror. Only this time I am pressing my cheek to your mother's belly, softly talking to you even as you sleep in her womb. Frodo-lad. Frodo. Big brother Fro. Forgive me. I am getting the two of us mixed up.  
  
You will inherit Bag End upon your father's leaving. Not his death - his leaving. For I can see that Samwise will one day join me across the Sea in the Blessed Realm. Eventually we will die there, but for awhile he will also experience a time of healing and rest before we leave to met your mother. What truly awaits us after death, not even the Elves or the Maia know. But this is what I believe will happen.  
  
It is a joy to me to know that you and your family will stay in Bag End. For your love of family and place well suites being Master of this grand old Smial. Hold fast to its beauty. I know you will keep it and all its inhabitants as well-tended as its legendary gardens. And if you need a new water source, try digging down the hill slightly South of the current pump's location.  
  
Your gift is also inside the wooden chest at the foot of my bed. I really should not say "my bed" as it is now part of your property. However, I cannot conceive of this room as being anything other than my room until your own son inherits the smial and chooses to use the room for other purposes.  
  
Keep the documents as your heritage from me to my namesake. They are the proof you might need later on. In any case, they are interesting in and of themselves. My own Uncle Bilbo Baggins always desired for a Baggins to occupy Bag End. Whilst your last name may not be Baggins, your heart and heritage are, as will be your son's and his son's. Beyond this, the visions turn grey and I can only guess without certainty.  
  
With love, Uncle Frodo  
  
Daisy reopened the chest and peered inside. "Fro, I think you're going to have to help Penny and me with these."  
  
"What do you mean?" Frodo asked, refolding the letter and carefully inserting it back inside its original envelope.  
  
"There's three items here addressed to you," Primrose said, pulling out a rectangular box gift wrapped in maroon paper and tied with a gold ribbon matching the one used for Elanor's gift. She handed the first box to her brother. Another like unto it she handed to Daisy, and the third one in quite different wrapping paper she kept for herself.  
  
Frodo tore open the wrapping paper and opened up the box. Inside was a beautifully gilt-leafed framed document. "What's it say, Frodo?" Pippin asked.  
  
"Oh my!" Frodo exclaimed. "It's the original deed to Bag End given from Bilbo Baggins to Frodo Baggins! It has all the original seals and the seven signatures and everything! Look. That's Mayor Will Whitfoot's signature. And here's Grandpa Gaffer's thumbprint and X's. He was a witness. Wow!"  
  
The children gathered around to see such a historical document. Bilbo Baggins. Frodo Baggins. Hamfast Gamgee. The Honorable Mayor Will Whitfoot of Hobbiton. Thain Paladin II of Tookborough. Master Rorimac Brandybuck of Brandy Hall. And Widow Rumble of Number Two Bag Shot Row. All the signatures.  
  
"Well, I'll be!" exclaimed Faramir. "It's Grandpa Paladin's handwriting, all right. Gee. I used to sit on his knees and play with the little gold braces chain he wore." Goldilocks smiled and hugged her husband.  
  
Primrose handed Frodo the second box. This box was decorated differently from the other two. "Looks like Dad had a hand in this one," she said. "That's his handwriting; not Uncle Frodo's."  
  
Frodo opened the box. Inside was another framed document.  
  
"It's the second deed," Frodo happily exclaimed. "This one's from Frodo Baggins to his heir, Samwise Gamgee. Wow! Dad never showed me this. I knew he had it somewhere in the smial, but I couldn't find the deed to Bag End. I found the Rights-of-Inheritance papers in his study, but . Wow! This is wonderful!"  
  
"Look, Pip, that's Grandpa Cotton's signature," Robin said. "And Fredigar Bolger. He was the Hobbiton Shiriff and one of Dad's good friends."  
  
"Hey! Pass me one of those," Ruby called from her chair. Robin took the second deed over to his sister while Frodo opened the last box.  
  
"Another deed!" he exclaimed. "You're never going to believe this one! It's from Bungo Baggins to Bilbo Baggins. My goodness! Just think how old this is!"  
  
"Whose signature is that down at the bottom right?" Merry squinted to get a good look at the long, looping writing. "Gandall? There's no place name or honorific or even a last name. Who was Gandall?"  
  
"Here, let me see," Hamfast pulled a small reading magnifier out of his coat pocket. "That's not a double 'l' at the end. It's an 'lf'. Gandalf. The wizard? We have the signature of Gandalf the White?"  
  
"Gandalf the Grey he was known back then," Ruby said. "Quite a treasure you have there, Frodo."  
  
Frodo smiled. "I know just where to hang them. Over the great mantle in the living room."  
  
"Why do you think Uncle Frodo mentioned moving the water well in his letter?" Tom asked.  
  
"I don't know, Tom," Frodo said, "but I'm going to take his advice should we ever need it." 


	6. To Rose

Chapter 6: To Rose  
  
The children settled back into their seating arrangements after the excitement of viewing the Bag End deeds. Ruby kept scrutinizing the oldest deed, as Frodo and Tom looked over the other two.  
  
"Your turn, Rose," was all Bilbo said as he handed her the letter from Uncle Frodo.  
  
To Rose:  
  
My dearest Rose,  
  
So much like unto your beloved mother. You are well-named indeed, fragrant flower of Bag End. But let me tell you a little secret, Rose. Contrary to your mother's (and your own) name, her favorite flower was not the Rose. It is the black-eyed sunflower growing in wild profusion across the back wall in the vegetable garden.  
  
Your father planted them . wait. he will plant them (ah, forgive me, but I have become unstuck in time again and verb tenses are difficult for me at this moment). Your father planted them for her to view outside the kitchen window, and again outside their bedroom window which faces East. She loves their bright sunny petals and dark, dark brown eyes, almost as much as she loves your own dark, dark brown eyes. Sam pampers your mother by scattering the sunflower petals on the floor of her bath. He does it so that Rose returns from her work in the fields to find flowers at her feet inside the smial. Sam's a sentimental old hobbit if ever there is/was one. And your mother loves him all the more for that.  
  
But the sunflowers I describe are not the ones of your time. The ones I describe belong to the past. Over time, your mother's sunflowers will change and mutate until they are not the same flower as before. Light brown eyes instead of dark brown. And the petals too, will change. They grow slightly curly and diminish in length. It is as all things are in this world. Things change and we carry on.  
  
But I have saved a few seeds from your mother's plant. You will find them in a small pouch inside my chest at the foot of the bed. Samwise will forgive me, but I also saved aside some of the precious soil of Lothlorien, which was a gift from the Lady Galadriel to your father. He carried it in a small box all the way to Mordor and back to the Shire. Even when we were forced to abandon everything in that vile place of death, your father kept that box of soil close to his heart. It was more precious to him than food or water or clothing or sleep. It was a reminder for him of what we were trying to protect. It probably saved his mind, though I doubt he would tell you so.  
  
The soil will have preserved the seeds through these long decades. Plant them with the soil, and you will have your mother's original flowers again. Remember her, your father, the sacrifice he made for you, the love he carries even now for her, and also remember me (though we never met). Remember us all when you see these flowers in summer.  
  
Love, Uncle Frodo  
  
Daisy opened up the chest again and found the small pouch. She gave it to her sister.  
  
Rose put aside the letter and opened up the pouch. Inside the amber drawstring bag was a small wooden box containing a few sunflower seeds and a tiny bit of dry soil. A small, very faded handwritten note was also in with the seeds. Rose carefully unfolded the paper. It read:  
  
They like to be near people. But they do get very tall. Love, F.  
  
"Do you think they could actually sprout after all these years?" Pippin asked.  
  
"I don't know what to think right now," Tom quietly said. "I can't figure out how he described what the sunflowers in the back garden look like now. I mean, he described them down to the way the pale yellow petals curl up at their tips. This is weird. Maybe that soil is magic. Maybe the seeds will sprout."  
  
"I'll let you know next spring," Rose replied. She quietly put away the items and drew the drawstring closed. "If they are still viable, I'll send each of you some seeds. Maybe we can repopulate the Shire with Mother's Sunflowers."  
  
Elanor sighed. "That was a lovely gift; Mother's Sunflowers."  
  
"Right," Merry said, slightly bored. He was not of the same temperament as the rest of the family. Merry liked the woods and open fields better than the well-tended gardens of his family. "Guess I'm up next, if Uncle Frodo's still tracking on target with the names and order of us all."  
  
"He certainly is," Bilbo replied. "Here's your letter, Mer." 


	7. To Merry

Chapter 7: To Merry  
  
Dearest Merry,  
  
Let's get straight to the point, shall we? I know you dislike boring details.  
  
"I like this style much better," Merry smiled. "Always thought old Uncle Frodo's writings were too full of flowers and poetry and whatnot. Didn't know he could cut to the chase."  
  
"Boy, he really nailed you, Merry," Pippin laughed.  
  
"Oh, stop blathering and read the letter, Mer," Goldilocks interrupted.  
  
He cleared his throat and continued.  
  
.Your gift is not in the chest. Unless your father has moved it, your gift is hanging on the wall to the left of the window..  
  
Merry stopped reading and everyone looked at that spot. On the wall, to the left of the little round window, was a sword mounted upon a wooden holder. It gleamed softly in the afternoon light.  
  
"Hmmm." Merry pondered. "Now that's something REALLY useful!"  
  
"Merry," Goldilocks whined, "finish reading the letter!"  
  
"All right, all right already," he complained, then cleared his throat again.  
  
.I leave you my old Elvish sword, Sting. As you probably know, it was found in the orc caverns inside the Misty Mountains by my Uncle Bilbo during his great adventure documented in the tale, "There and Back Again." Bilbo passed Sting on to me, as its strength and sharpness and ability to glow blue when orcs are around proved most useful to me. Your father also used it briefly during our adventures, much to my eternal gratitude and a few orc's eternal damnation. Neither of us would have survived without the faithful service of this blade.  
  
You will need it in your career as Shiriff and Border Patrol Captain..  
  
"I'm going to be Captain?" Merry again stopped. "I thought Freddy was next in line."  
  
"Merry, come on. Don't stop. Finish reading!" Bilbo said.  
  
"All right." Merry again cleared his throat.  
  
.and Border Patrol Captain. Wear it with pride and treat it with the great dignity and honor it deserves. If you treat it with respect, it will never dull nor loose its magic. But be warned. Keep it out of the reach of your children. Your son will be sorely tempted to test his little fingers on its sharp edges.  
  
With great respect and admiration, Your Uncle Frodo  
  
"My son?" Merry handed the paper to Bilbo who was sitting nearby. "Ruby. You said Lil couldn't have any more children. You said she."  
  
"Merry," Ruby interrupted, and climbed to her swollen feet, "don't you think we should keep this talk private? I mean, I don't think Lil would appreciate the rest of the family hearing about her female problems. All right?" She took her brother by the arm and walked him over to the sword hanging on the wall. "We can talk about that later. Right now I think everyone's waiting for you to claim your gift."  
  
Merry flushed a bright red in embarrassment at his own words. Frodo came up to his brother and put an arm around his shoulders. "Maybe you'll get that son after all," he whispered. "Now go ahead, take up your sword."  
  
Merry hesitated to claim his prize. He always assumed the legendary Sting had been sent back to the Mathom House in Micheldelving and was off limits to visitors. He didn't realize it was in Bag End all these years. Now it was his. Freely given by its master. But Merry experienced a sudden reluctance to touch it and claim it.  
  
"What's wrong, Merry?" Ruby asked.  
  
"What. what if it is jinxed?" he whispered. "If I claim it, maybe it's magic might allow Lil and me to have another baby. A son. But. but what if it ends up killing her, like you said? You told me she would probably die if she became pregnant again. I can't . I mean, I can't risk that, Ruby. I can't. Not my Lil." Tears welled up in the normally-jocular hobbit's soft brown eyes. "I don't know what to do."  
  
"I suggest you finish reading the letter," Bilbo said. All eyes turned to him. He was holding out the letter to his brother. "It has a post script."  
  
Merry snatched the paper out of Bilbo's hand. He read it silently, then gave it to Ruby. With a determined grim set to his mouth, Merry walked back over to the sword and unfastened it from its mount. The sensuous intaglio etched into the blade caught a stray sunbeam, and the weapon flashed a dangerous signal. Merry smiled, and retrieved the scabbard from the wall, putting it on in the manner of one born to the sword. Sting flashed once more as Merry sheathed it.  
  
"What's it say, Ruby?" Primrose asked.  
  
Ruby smiled. "It says, 'P.S. She will be fine.' That's it."  
  
Brothers and sisters gathered around Merry, slapping his back and congratulating him on both his magnificent gift and on his impending fatherhood. Ruby was the only one who did not shake his hand. She went back to the reading chair and settled her pregnant frame into a somewhat comfortable position.  
  
"I hope you're right, Uncle Frodo," she whispered to herself. "I do hope you are right." 


	8. To Pippin

Chapter 8: To Pippin  
  
"My turn," Pippin said. He strode over to the writing desk and retrieved the next letter from the stack. In deed, it was addressed to Pippin. He was a bit nervous, as his reading skills were nothing near as good as any of his numerous siblings. And he knew that Frodo Baggins's writings were notoriously full of snippets of Elvish and strange words in foreign languages. He tried to hide his nervousness, but his hands shook slightly as he unfolded the paper.  
  
"Let me know if you need any help," Bilbo whispered to his brother and winked.  
  
Pippin smiled weakly and started into the ordeal.  
  
To Pippin:  
  
Dear Pippin,  
  
You are very much like your Uncle Hamson, a gentlehobbit I knew as a lad and loved as an adult. A skilled craftsman with rope, twine, cane and wood. Your father is very proud of you, as am I. The world needs more people such as yourself. Good, descent, honest and trustworthy. Very much like your father and his favorite brother. A lover of the Shire itself. Its woods and fields. The earth and animals. Good food, good beer and plenty of laughter.  
  
Gentle son of Samwise the Brave. I give you a new name, if you will have it: Pippin Shireheart. Stay true to your calling. It is honorable and satisfying. The working with the hands. The feel of your muscles as they twist the rope. The smell of cane fresh from cutting. The smell of varnish and wax. The taste of cold beer and sharp cheese at the end of a long day of work. Your wife in your arms in the cool of the evening. This, dearest Pippin. This is why your father and I went on our Quest. To preserve this way of life. To keep the Shire alive and free so that hobbits like you can work in peace.  
  
And work you shall. All the days of your life. Hard work. But satisfying work. For without people like you, the Shire would not be the Shire, and life would not get along. And you would wither if you ever stopped working, for it is your love.  
  
Do not fret over what others may have that you do not. Be content with knowing your own heart first. Know that you have something most people never find: the love of your soul mate, the respect of your fellow craftsmen, and the happiness of our own unquenchable spirit.  
  
But enough of my ramblings. I do have something for you besides a new name. Something a bit more useful. Look in the chest at the foot of the bed. There is a wooden box with your name on it. It is a set of matching woodworking knives, planes, routers, gouges and chisels. There are more items in the box under the false floor. The needles, brushes, stakes and glues are down below. They are all Elvish made. As long as you keep them in their leather holsters within the wooden box, they will remain sharp without need for whetstone.  
  
Much love, Uncle Frodo  
  
Pippin choked out the last few lines, the emotions of what he was reading about himself finally overtaking his ability to read and speak. Primrose opened the chest and retrieved a rather large wooden box. She presented it to her brother, who was completely speechless by now.  
  
The chest was made of the finest cherry, deep stained and hand-rubbed to a glowing finish. Inlaid into the top of the box was his name written in fine block print using mother-of-pearl. Artistic curls framed the latch and key. Pippin knelt down on the rag rug and placed the tool box before him. He turned the little iron key, and the box opened.  
  
Hamfast whistled in appreciation. The leather holsters were still soft and supple after all the decades it had lain in the chest. Inside each holster was a perfectly made tool for either woodworking, rope-making, or furniture- making. Sharp and bright they were, gleaming softly in the darkness of the leather-lined case. Two leather tabs came up from the bottom and lay against the sides of the box. Pippin gently pulled up on the tabs, and the top layer of the work chest effortlessly pulled up. He respectfully placed the top tray on the rug, and peered inside. Artists brushes, needles and miniature tools nestled in their case. Tools for the finest work.  
  
Faramir came over an knelt down to take a better look. "May I?" he asked, indicating that he wanted to take one of the knives out of its housing to look at it more closely. Pippin nodded. Faramir stood and brought the largest blade into the light. He also whistled. "The tools themselves are works of art."  
  
Goldilocks looked at Hamfast, who smiled slightly. Perhaps there was hope for Faramir after all.  
  
"Wonder where these were made?" Daisy asked, taking a small knife out of its holster and testing it against her thumbnail. A thin sliver curled against the blade. "Wow. Uncle Hamson would have loved these!"  
  
Elanor took a close look at the handle on one of the chisels. "This has the same markings as on my book. Pippin, I think these are also from Rivendell."  
  
Pippin carefully put the tools back in their holsters and replaced the top shelf into the box. He closed the lid and locked it, putting the key in his coat pocket. He cleared his tight throat. "I'm going to make that rocking pony I promised you, Ruby," he smiled. "Got me some fine tools now. Think I'll give my old tools to young Harry Roper. He can't afford a whole set. Now he can get mine for free."  
  
"I think the new name becomes you, Pippin," Merry said.  
  
"Well, now, I think I'll keep me old one," Pippin smiled. "Worked for Dad and his Dad. Works for me. Meaning no disrespect to Uncle Frodo. But I'll just stay Pippin Gamgee for now." 


	9. To Goldilocks

Chapter 9: To Goldilocks  
  
"Who's next?" Faramir asked.  
  
"I am," came the quiet reply from his wife. Goldilocks arose from the rocking chair and straightened the silk of her gown. It was a dark, midnight blue dress embedded with baroque freshwater pearls and tiny crystals. It set off the fine dark gold of her hair, elaborately dressed in ringlets, braids and midnight blue ribbons. Fitting for the future Thain's wife. Regal, yet appropriate for the solemnity of the occasion. Yet Goldilocks was uncomfortable as she stepped across the room to her brother.  
  
Bilbo handed her the letter with her name written on outside of the envelop.  
  
She carefully unfolded the ancient parchment and began to read.  
  
My dearest Goldilocks,  
  
Child of the meadows. Chaser of butterflies. Young savior of the mallorn Party Tree (yes, I see you watering it every day during that year of long drought). Lover of young plants. Beloved of fireflies and hummingbirds. Companion to bunnies and hens and little white lambs of spring. Mature lady of orchards and lanes. Friend of the bees and quiet rains. Dreamer of the goodness of the earth. A true child of Rose and Sam who follows in their love of all that blooms and grows. She who loves the garden with the same fierce love as I love her parents.  
  
The duties and politics of the Great Smials wear heavy upon your heart, my beloved child of flowers. You wear well the mantle of leadership, accepting the duties of title and high society without complaint or murmur of discontent. And you do so willingly. You do so for love. And you are willing to submit your own desires and longings in order to please your love. And that may seem fair and good to you for awhile. But only a little while.  
  
A word of warning from one who can see several possible futures for you: If you continue down this lane, your discontent will eventually bring woe to the great house and separation from your lord and lover. Step back, my daughter. It is not too late. You can regain that which was lost.  
  
Beloved Golden Girl. Listen to your heart. Its joy will wither and fade, just as a plant withers and fades, if it is not nourished with what it needs. Happiness is not to be gained by substituting the wishes of another, but by taking the path of your own desire. Happiness for you, my beautiful daughter of a humble gardener, is to be found in nurturing the soil around your adopted home.  
  
I cannot in clear conscious gift you with anything rich or fine. You already have this, and know the true worth of a gift is not in how much it costs. What I give you cannot be purchased or traded.  
  
Your gift is in the chest at the foot of my bed. They are your grandmother Bell Gamgee's. The Gaffer and I talked about what to do with them, and he was well-pleased to let me store them until you needed them. Take these reminders of Bag Shot Row, Bag End, and your heritage. Take them back with you at the end of day, and create your heart's ease in the beautiful hills of Tookland. You can have both the humble and the rich. They are not mutually exclusive.  
  
Love, Uncle Frodo  
  
Goldilocks's ear tips were burning a bright pink in embarrassment at having her problems laid out for all her siblings to hear. She folded the letter and stared at the rag rug, the only sound being the gentle creak of wood as someone shifted their weight from one foot to another.  
  
Hamfast cleared his throat, disturbing the uncomfortable silence.  
  
Faramir walked over to the chest and Daisy handed him a box wrapped in pink ribbons. He was about to open the box himself, when Primrose stopped him.  
  
"Faramir," she said, laying a hand atop his, "this is for Goldie, not for you. Let her open it and decide what to do."  
  
The rest of the family were looking at the handsome future Thain. The gold of his buttons gleamed in the sunlight. The richness of his formal dark grey waistcoat and silk embroidered light grey shirt a noticeable contrast to the more humble attire of his in-laws.  
  
Bilbo got up from the writing desk. "Here, Goldie. Sit down." He offered her the little high-backed wooden chair. She gratefully sank into it, eager to somehow end the ordeal.  
  
Faramir placed the package into Goldilocks's lap, then moved behind the chair. He leaned down and tenderly kissed her on the cheek. She hesitantly loost the pale pink ribbons and removed the package's lid.  
  
It didn't look very impressive. There were some old clothes neatly folded inside white tissue paper. They had a faint, musty, earthy smell. Goldie lifted up a simple farmwife's gingham print work dress and began to cry.  
  
Robin came over and stood next to Faramir. "It's all right, Goldie-girl. Go on. There's more." He patted her on the shoulder in support of his sister.  
  
Faramir handed her his pale grey handkerchief. She dabbed at the tears, took a deep breath, and continued to unpack her grandmother's clothes. A well-worn apron, some gardening gloves with tiny red and yellow tulips embroidered upon the cuffs, a thin dark green fringed woolen shawl, and a sunbonnet in pale green, brown and yellow were also in the package.  
  
That was all. No secret letter. No hidden compartments. Just some old clothes lovingly preserved for a granddaughter by a family uncle she had never met. She carefully folded away the clothes, except for the gloves, which she couldn't seem to give up.  
  
Faramir turned and knelt on one knee in front of his beautiful wife, taking the package from her. "I love you, Goldilocks," he softly said. "I've loved you since the first time I saw you at Dad's party. You don't have to take these old rags. I'll buy you some new clothes. Pretty clothes. The best clothes money can buy. I'll get you anything you want. Anything. Just stay with me. Please?"  
  
She brought the worn gloves up to her face and lightly caressed her cheeks with their rough cloth. She sighed and slowly tried them on. They fit her delicate hands as if they were made specifically for her. But they looked so incongruous against the rich background of the midnight blue silk and pearls. Goldie looked up from the gloves and into her husband's grey-green eyes. Tears spilled over her lashes, getting trapped in the sad corners of her mouth.  
  
Faramir put the package down on the rug and leaned in, kissing Goldilocks tenderly on the lips. He took her gloved hands in his, the Ring of the Seal of the Thain gleaming amber against the rough cloth. "Will this make you happy?" he quietly asked, gesturing to the old clothes.  
  
She looked down at the sad pile, then into her own unhappy hands, and nodded. "Uncle Frodo was right. Oh, Faramir, I do love you. With all my heart I love you. But I'm so unhappy. I miss it. I miss working in the sunshine. I miss the flowers and bees. I know it's not right for the wife of the future Thain to be doing manual labor, but I miss it."  
  
"Then we shall have a garden, my love," Faramir whispered and smiled. "And you shall work in it to your heart's ease. And you shall wear your grandmother's apron or whatever else you wish to wear, and. well. to heck with what other people think. You'll have your garden and I shall visit it each morning with you. We'll take tea in the garden with honey collected by your own hands. Only say you'll stay with me, please, my dearest Goldie. Please stay with me in Tuckborough?"  
  
Goldie nodded and smiled. Faramir wiped away her tears. She stood up and retrieved her package.  
  
"Put on the bonnet, Goldie," Tom teased.  
  
"Yes. Put on the bonnet," Elanor added, putting her arm about her brother Frodo's waist.  
  
Goldilocks smiled again and acquiesced to her siblings' wishes. The little bonnet had a difficult time going over the mass of elaborate braids and ribbons. Goldilocks stubbornly refused to let her hairstyle win. She pulled down the top-most braid, and plunked the bonnet on top her head. She looked utterly charming.  
  
"That looks terrible with your blue dress," Daisy snorted. "Uncle Frodo must have been color-blind."  
  
Everyone laughed. The sadness spell had been broken. 


	10. To Hamfast

Chapter 10: To Hamfast  
  
"Your turn, Hamfast," Bilbo said.  
  
Goldilocks returned to the rocking chair, her precious package of her grandmother's old clothes held tightly in her arms. Faramir stepped aside to let his brother-in-law past, then retook his place behind his beloved wife. He absentmindedly played with the golden curls spilling out from beneath her bonnet.  
  
Bilbo handed his brother the letter and moved the little high-back chair to its place next to the writing desk. Bilbo sat down to enjoy listening to Hamfast, who had an unusually deep and resonate bass voice.  
  
Hamfast pulled out his magnifier from his coat pocket, cleared his throat, and began to read.  
  
Dearest Hamfast,  
  
Sometimes I see you as a little lad, all full of mischief and running off to catch frogs and turtles down at the Water in the glow of twilight. Sometimes the mirrors show a mature hobbit singing to enraptured listeners in the dark taverns. And sometimes the still waters show you working, working, working in the quiet of the night and by soft candlelight. A lover of the nighttime. A worker in mysteries. More alike in temperament to wizards than any hobbit has ever been.  
  
"How does.. um, did, Uncle Frodo know these things?" Merry whispered to Rose. "He's described Hammie to a tea."  
  
"Do you mind?" Hamfast turned to his brother and raised an eyebrow. "I'm trying to read here."  
  
"Sorry," Merry grinned and shut his lips tightly. Rose giggled. Hamfast shot her a glance which would have withered her namesake on the bush. She too, shut her lips into a tight line, then broke into a smile as Hamfast returned his attention to the letter.  
  
My gift is for the apothecary. Or perhaps you are a physician. I am not certain, as the waters become confusing for me to view. In any case, I see that you are a good pupil. You have listened well to your first teacher - your father, and also to the ?herblorist? I think it is. Ah, forgive your Uncle Frodo. It is not as easy to see clearly in darkness as in light.  
  
But enough of your past. What I see is of your present. The now, if you will. Now is the time for experimentation, testing and decision- making. Now is the time for you to choose your path. Great goodness or great ill can come from your knowledge and love of plants, animals and minerals. It is up to you to choose how to apply what you have learned in the dark.  
  
Hamfast. Our beloved Rose named you. You are named after Sam's father. A good hobbit. A stern hobbit. You will never know your Grandfather Gamgee. A pity. He would have been so proud of his namesake. The Gaffer could neither read nor write, but his common sense was outstanding. Sometimes his council was sought out by even the greatest of the Wise - the wizard Gandalf. Your council will also be valued. But beware of those who would use your skills and knowledge for un-honorable means. My advice to you: be precise in all your doings. And come out into the light of day every once in awhile.  
  
My gift to you, Hamfast, is in the chest at the foot of my bed. Be careful with it, as it is fragile.  
  
Love, Uncle Frodo  
  
"Fragile?" Elanor said. "Hope it wasn't crushed under all the other stuff that's come out of that trunk."  
  
"Here, let me," Primrose said as she and Daisy once again stood up and looked into the old chest. She pulled out wooden box with a yellowed paper tag addressed to Hamfast. "It's for you."  
  
Hamfast put away his magnifier and accepted the small chest. It was not wide or long, but was very deep. The wood was of dark-stained mahogany with silver hinges and a silver keyhole with matching key. He turned the key, springing the lid open.  
  
Inside was a thickly-padded compartment. The padding was of red velvet and fitted around its treasure to ensure that the contents of the box would not move about, even if dropped. Hamfast stared in wonder at the contents. He carefully lifted out a scale. Twin arms extended from its pewter centerpiece, and from each arm dangled a shallow pewter bowl hanging from tiny silver chains. Hamfast walked the delicate tool over to the writing desk and set it on the flat surface. The scales rocked back and forth, then settled into perfect balance. The centerpiece was in the form of a woman, blindfolded and holding the scale's arms in one hand, the balance indicator in the form of a sword clutched in her other hand held before her chest. About the base was some writing. Hamfast quickly retrieved his magnifying glass and peered at the inscription.  
  
"What's it say?" Pippin asked.  
  
"Um, it says.. " Hamfast squinted and turned the scales around to read the entire inscription. "It says, 'Truth is blind to needs and wants.'"  
  
"What do you suppose that means?" Tom asked.  
  
"It means that the truth cannot be influenced by outsiders, no matter how badly you might want the results to be different," Ruby said.  
  
"Hey, Hammie, what are these?" Daisy asked. She pulled out a tiny weight. "It looks like a miniature chess piece."  
  
Hamfast came back over to the box. "It's a standardized weight. See, you put that in one of the little bowls on the scale, and then measure out whatever it is you are using into the other bowl until the scales balance. That way you know exactly how much stuff you're using. We do that when mixing up potions. It's important that you not put in too much or too little of the active ingredient or you could end up hurting or even killing someone." He looked through the compartment, and whistled in appreciation. "Wow. Mister Bolger doesn't have anything nearly as precise as these."  
  
"What's underneath?" Frodo asked.  
  
Hamfast removed the scale compartment. Inside was a collection of the most beautiful crystal flasks he had ever beheld. Large ones, small ones, tiny ones. Curious long, thin connecting pipes. Flasks with lips. Flasks with measuring marker lines etched into the crystal. Each one with its own hand- fitted cork stopper. There was even a matched set of glass measuring spoons and funnels. They sparkled in the sunlight.  
  
"Wow, Hamfast. You could really have fun experimenting with that setup," Faramir said.  
  
"Could you brew me a beer?" Bilbo laughed.  
  
Hamfast flashed him a genuine smile. "All right. All right. Enough fun. Let's get on with this or we're going to be here till sundown. Who's next?"  
  
"That would be me!" Daisy giggled. "I'm not going to read my letter first. I'm going straight to the gift."  
  
She reached into the chest. 


	11. To Daisy

Chapter 11: To Daisy  
  
She reached into the chest and brought out a soft, padded red satin bag tied up tightly with orange and yellow knotted ribbons. At the end of each ribbon was a sparkling crystal. The gift was rolled upon itself like a jellyroll. When Daisy loost the ribbons, the bag suddenly unrolled with a tremendous noise of tinkling bells and jangling crystals.  
  
"Oh my!" Daisy squeaked. "Oh! I hope I didn't break anything! Oh! Uncle Frodo will kill me if I've broken anything!"  
  
"Don't worry," Faramir said, "Uncle Frodo's not here to witness your racket."  
  
"I think he's dead anyway," Tom whispered to Robin.  
  
"I don't think so," Robin whispered back. "I think he's still alive at that place Dad's sailing to. Tol whatever-it-is."  
  
"I hope Uncle Frodo's there waiting for Daddy," Primrose said. "I would hate to think that Dad suffered going to Sea and braving all that awful bouncing green water for nothing. He's so uncomfortable around boats. I never thought he would get on that ship once he saw the Sea. But he did."  
  
"And now he's gone, and Mother's gone, and it's just us," Frodo sighed.  
  
"Oh, stop it, everyone!" Daisy stomped her foot on the floor. "You are ruining my letter with all this gloomy talk."  
  
"What letter?" Bilbo shot back. "You don't have a letter."  
  
"What!!!" Daisy yelped. "I don't have a letter?!?"  
  
Bilbo laughed and waved an envelop in his sister's flushed face.  
  
"You.. You liar, you!" Daisy snatched the letter out of Bilbo's hands and huffed her way back to the satin package. She plopped down on the rag rug, crossing her legs in a most unladylike fashion. "Whoops," she said, rearranging her skirt so that her underwear was not showing.  
  
Ruby giggled and shifted positions. "Oh, stop it, Daisy. You're making me laugh, and now I have to pee."  
  
"Pregnant lasses always have to pee," Merry laughed. "You of all people should know."  
  
"Oh, do be quiet and let me read this," Daisy interrupted.  
  
My darling Daisy,  
  
Another golden child. But golden with the kiss of fiery red in both hair and temperament. How I should love to caress your soft hair by the firelight. But alas, I shall have to leave that joy for another, much younger hobbit, if he suits your fancy. Make them wait, my dear. Make them wait. You are worth the wait.  
  
Your love of life and beautiful feet are a joy to all who are fortunate enough to see you dancing in the firelight, oh child of the flames. Open your gift now, if you haven't already. You know where it is.  
  
"How DOES he do that?" Merry exclaimed.  
  
"Shut up, Mer, and let Daisy finish," Goldilocks laughed. She tied the silly bonnet's ribbons under her chin, causing Faramir to burst into an uncontrollable fit of giggling. He stifled it behind his hands.  
  
There were three compartments in the soft satin bag. Daisy untied the first compartment, reached in, and was rewarded with the high-pitched sound of bells. She pulled out a tangle of tiny golden bells suspended upon a couple of ankle bracelets. "Ooooo.." She couldn't help herself. She quickly rolled them between her hands, untangling the knots, and slipped them about her shapely legs. They tinkled soft music against her tanned skin and slightly reddish curls of hair on her feet.  
  
She reached into the middle pouch, and again was rewarded with the muffled sound of tintinnabulation. This time the little golden bells were embroidered into a bright amber silk bodice. Happy ribbons of red and green undulated about the fabric, creating an intoxicating rhythm all its own to compliment the music of the golden bells. "Ooooooooooooo..."  
  
Daisy stood up and put the lovely bodice on over her own dull brown one. She sparkled in the late afternoon sunlight pouring into the room though the leaded glass window.  
  
"Go on," Elanor said, "give us a dance, Daisy." She started clapping out a fast rhythm and her siblings joined in, laughing and whistling.  
  
Daisy twirled about in time to the percussion, causing the ankle bracelets to chime a merry tune. She was the embodiment of youth and happiness. Her reddish-gold hair bounced in the dancing. Daisy suddenly stopped and dropped to the floor. "I have to find out what's in the last one."  
  
It was heavier than the others. She finally managed to undo the knot, and pulled out a mass of clear pink rose quartz crystals. Each had been drilled through at the top of the crystal, and all were attached at various lengths to a plate of the finest pure mithril. Daisy held it up to the light, and it flashed with an inner fire like unto the brightest diamonds. And as each crystal struck its neighbor, an ethereal and all-together exquisitely lovely melody was born.  
  
"A wind chime," Pippin said. "I could make you a stand for that, Daze."  
  
She was dumbfounded. "It's so beautiful. So perfect. Oh, how did he know?" She returned to finish the letter.  
  
Now everyone can see and hear what I have seen and heard in the mirrors. Now they may also hear your joy at life. I wish I could see you dance in person, oh beloved of the fire. But your father and I will hear your music across the Sea, and laugh with our own joy.  
  
Love, Uncle Frodo 


	12. To Primrose

Chapter 12: To Primrose  
  
Daisy carefully put away the rose quartz crystal wind chime and took off her dancing bodice. She folded them and put them back inside their satin carrying case, tying each compartment and then rolling the whole kit up. But she left the ankle bracelets on. Faramir smiled at his sister-in-law and winked at Goldilocks.  
  
Primrose got off the chest and went over to the writing desk. Bilbo handed her the next letter in the ever-shrinking pile.  
  
Dearest Primrose,  
  
You may think your name is only a that of a simple, common flower, but it is not. Your name is a combining of your mother's and my own mother's name, doing honor to both grand ladies of the Shire. And you shall bring more honor to your family's name, as well as to the Shire in general.  
  
For such is your character, much as it was, or is, of your father's. You value steadfastness, honor, and loyalty, above all else. They are as much as part of your being as they are, or were, of your father's. Are. Let me set that straight. For he has not died, nor has he lost any of the fierce bright loyalty which you share.  
  
Some people mistake your steadfastness for sternness, which is not so. You are more complex than others, and suffer self-doubt and second thoughts when alone. This need not be so. For you hold true while others around you waver. Your strength is inside, yet can be suddenly brought to the surface when the need arises. You also hold fast your inner joy. You fear to share the depth of the emotions within you, afraid that to release such qualities may be off-putting to others. But do not be afraid. There is a way to express your wellspring of emotions without jeopardizing the control you so desire.  
  
Some things which can't be spoken can be given voice in other ways. Your gift is in the chest at the foot of my bed. It will allow you to sing without breath. To speak without tongue. To communicate without writing. It will become your best, most dearest friend, and a blessing to all who hear its message. Do not be disturbed that it does not look finished. This was done deliberately. Your brother will complete the gift.  
  
Love, Uncle Frodo  
  
Primrose folded the letter and placed it into the little handbag dangling from her belt. Daisy scooted out of the way to let her sister open the chest. Against the far right side was another cloth bag. This one was of maroon felt tied up with a drawstring, holding an odd-shaped gift. Primrose carefully picked it up and tears of gratitude welled into her eyes.  
  
"What is it? I can't see." Tom asked.  
  
Primrose undid the knot in the silver satin drawstring and let the felt bag fall away from the object. "It's a harp," she whispered, running her hands over the crest of smooth wood.  
  
An exquisitely made harp. The rosewood body fairly glowed with an inner light. It was a small harp which could easily fit into a person's lap. There were two octaves of strings; each string having a small metal lever attached to its top mechanism. The strings were loosened for long-term storage so that the wood would not warp whilst the harp awaited its mistress. Around the base of the column was a maroon ribbon, holding the tuning key.  
  
Bilbo brought the high-backed chair into the center of the rug, and Primrose sat in it, cradling the harp against her left cheek. She closed her eyes and sighed.  
  
The wood was a high satin finish. An intricate inlay of darker cherry and walnut woods formed a scene of a rambling rose bush set against a trellis. But some of the inlay was missing. None of the rose blossoms were present. The wood had been carved out, ready to receive the inlays, but had never been completed.  
  
Pippin got off the bed and came over to examine the harp in great deal. He sighed as he stood up. "It's from the master craftsmen in Dale." He fingered a small mark in the base. "I don't know, Penny. I really don't know if I can do that sort of intricate work. I mean, I've never tried anything that small before. And I never worked on a musical instrument."  
  
"You never had the right tools before," Elanor said.  
  
"Could you finish it, Pip?" Goldilocks asked.  
  
"Well," he turned to Primrose, "I could try. Or we could send it to Jamison Underhill over in Micheldelving."  
  
"No," Primrose suddenly said. "It's you or no one. If anyone else works on it, it won't sound. I just know it. Please, Pippin, would you finish it like Uncle Frodo said?"  
  
"I'll try my best," Pippin replied, "but give me a little time to get used to the new tools. I want to try them out first on something not as nice as that harp. All right?"  
  
Primrose slipped the harp back into its felt case and drew up the drawstring. "I'll keep it until you're ready. Just let me know." 


	13. To Bilbo

Chapter 13: To Bilbo  
  
Bilbo returned the high-backed chair to its place at the desk and brought a letter with him back to the center of the rug. "My turn," was all he said before he began reading.  
  
My dearest Bilbo,  
  
Your gift is in the leather garment bag hanging on the coat rack next to the door.  
  
Everyone turned to look at what had been completely overlooked when they entered the room. A non-descript typical wooden coat rack stood just to the left of the door, between the door and the window ledge. A single ancient leather bag attached to a wooden hanger hung from the backmost peg on the rack. Frodo was standing closest to the object, so he retrieved it and brought it into the center of the room. Bilbo folded the letter and handed it to Frodo so that he could undo the clasps on the dusty leather bag.  
  
The last clasp was removed and Bilbo pulled his gift out from the darkness of the leather. Suddenly the room glowed with a silvery light, and thousands of rainbows danced throughout the room.  
  
Hamfast whistled in appreciation. Daisy gasped and shielded her suddenly- blinded eyes.  
  
It was a mithril coat. It glowed silver in the late afternoon sunlight filtering into the room. Gems embedded in the neckpiece sparkled with every color imaginable. The rings of the suit of mithril mail softly chinked as Bilbo turned it around for all to see.  
  
"Is that. Is that what I think it is?" Faramir asked in astonishment.  
  
"Can't be any else," Ruby said.  
  
"There's not another like it in all Middle Earth," Robin said.  
  
Bilbo handed the mithril coat to Tom and continued reading his letter.  
  
The mithril coat belongs to you as much as it belonged to your namesake, my beloved guardian and cousin, Bilbo Baggins. He wore it whilst on his adventure, as did I when on my Quest. But you probably know all about that. The mail is much more comfortable to wear than is apparent by simply holding it. My Uncle Bilbo and I are of completely different body shapes, yet the coat somehow conformed to fit us as if it were made by a tailor. Another Elvish mystery I shall have to inquire about when I reach Tol Eressea. But I digress.  
  
I do not think you will need it for a long time, but I cannot clearly see what awaits your journey. The mirrors are becoming more and more obstinate to being controlled by my thoughts, and I am having a difficult time seeing you in them. But I am certain that some day you will take an adventure of your own.  
  
When that day comes, wear the mithril (even while sleeping) and I will have done my duty. If you don't, your father will never let me forget it. He still blames me for your wanderlust and that time you fell off the roof of Farmer Cotton's barn. Or he will blame me for your wanderlust. Forgive me. My time grows short, yet yours lengthens. Anyway, wear it when you go on your adventure. You will need it.  
  
With love (wear the coat), Uncle Frodo  
  
"Do you think he wants you to wear the coat?" Robin snickered.  
  
"I think Uncle Frodo wants him to wear the coat," Elanor smiled and winked. Bilbo was well known in the family as being rather clumsy. He was the only one of all the children who had ever seriously injured themselves while trying to recreate one of adventures.  
  
"Maybe you should put it on right now, Bilbo," Rose teased. "Bag End's a dangerous place, Bilbo."  
  
"Is not," Frodo said in his best mock-insulted voice. "I keep it safe and secure so that the children aren't injured."  
  
"Maybe you better put it on, Bilbo," Pippin laughed. "Remember, Merry's got a sword now. And I think you owe him some money."  
  
Bilbo huffed and then smiled at the good-natured teasing. He slipped the mithril coat back into its garment bag and redid the clasps.  
  
"So, where are you going, Bilbo?" Goldilocks asked. "Uncle Frodo says you're going on an adventure. Where are you going?"  
  
"I'm going home right now, if you all don't stop the teasing," he jested back at her. He sat back down at the roll top desk. "Ruby. Your turn," he called out over his shoulder. "And don't think I'm going to walk your letter over to you either. No special privileges just because you're pregnant."  
  
She grunted and heaved herself out of the easy chair. "Right, Big Brother. Whatever you say, Big Brother."  
  
Tom leaned over and whispered into Bilbo's ear. "Does anyone else know about our plans?"  
  
"No," Bilbo whispered back. "I didn't tell anyone. I wish Uncle Frodo hadn't spilled the beans about the journey. We'll have to wait awhile before we can leave. I'll talk to you about it some more in the morning. All right?"  
  
"All right," his brother whispered back.  
  
"Here you go, love," Bilbo smiled sweetly as he handed the letter to Ruby. 


	14. To Ruby

Chapter 14: To Ruby  
  
Daughter of my heart, my dearest Ruby,  
  
My own child, for such you should have been. A child of learning and in love with wonder. Wise and compassionate and full of the desire to help others. A lady who can laugh with the delight of children and cry at the despair of death, yet not loose her inherent sense of self-worth to either emotion. A blessing upon you, and upon your children. All your children, whether you birth them of your own body or help others to bring them into this world of delight.  
  
My gift to you, my daughter, is in the chest at the foot of my bed. I do hope your sister Elanor is nearby, as you will need her in order to understand what I leave as your legacy.  
  
I know you cannot read this book. But I do not have the time allotted to translate it for you. I would have, but my ship awaits me at the Grey Havens, and I may not tarry. It was the last gift to arrive. Lord Elrond Half-Elvin of Imladris himself handed it to me yesterday at a secret meeting in the woods. I shall rejoin him and Galadriel, Bilbo and Gandalf, on the morrow. But tonight I must finish my work here and tie up loose ends. They understand and await me.  
  
Your father and mother suspect I am leaving, but have not said anything to me. They are like that, and I bless them for the privacy they have allowed me. Sam will accompany me on my journey to the harbor. Dearest Rose cannot, as she is with child. Otherwise she would have braved the weather as well.  
  
Your sister Elanor will have to be my avatar, oh most beloved Ruby. My gift is a book of medical lore of the lost Kingdom of Arnor. King Elessar showed it to me in Rivendell when I was abed from the Morgul-blade stabbing. Back then I only knew him as Strider. But he was instrumental in keeping me alive in the Wild until we reached the safe haven of Imladris. Later on during the War, he again treated both your father and me when we were given up for dead after our last desperate actions in Mordor.  
  
The book is written in an older form of Sindarin, since it comes from the King's family. They were given refuge by the Elves in Rivendell and that is how the book has come to me. If Elanor has problems with the translation, send it to the King in Gondor, and he will ensure you receive a copy in the Common Tongue. You will need this book later.  
  
Rest now, my love. Think of me, for I often think of you.  
  
Namarie, Uncle Frodo  
  
Ruby flushed at the high praise heaped upon her. She carefully refolded the letter and slipped it into its envelop. Daisy and Primrose already had the chest's lid open. Not much was left in the worn wooden crate. Primrose reached in and handed her a rectangular gift wrapped package. It was done up in plain brown paper; a bit of common twine holding the package together.  
  
"He's written something else on the wrapping paper," Primrose said as she handed the gift to her pregnant sister.  
  
Ruby held it to the light.  
  
To Ruby: I am sorry about the plainness of this wrapping, but your father suspects I am up to something and he is awake and prowling the corridors tonight. I cannot get to the study to reach the fancy wrapping paper without rousing his already heightened suspicions. He always outguesses me when it comes to the important things. You will understand. I love you, F.  
  
Tom handed Ruby a pair of scissors from the desk drawer. She snipped through the twine and unraveled the brown paper, carefully folding it to keep. A beautiful dark leather-bound book lay in her hands. There was no title on the outside, but the leather was covered in intricate carvings of the finest leather craft. Centermost was the figure of a single tree, a crown, and seven stars. She opened the book.  
  
The firm handwriting showed confidence in the subject matter, but she could not read the writing. It evidently was organized into several major sections, with chapter headings for each subject. She flipped through the book, and stopped when she ran across an illustration.  
  
"Goodness!" she exclaimed. "It's full of pictures. Diagrams. I've never seen anything like this. Look at this, Penny."  
  
Her sister came over and put her arm around Ruby's waist. "What is it? It looks like a baby in a sack."  
  
"It's a diagram of a baby inside it's mother's womb," Ruby whispered. "None of my textbooks ever show this sort of detail. Grammer Whitlow says its not proper to study the inside of the body. You have to cut open someone in order to look in, and she says that releases their humors. But this book shows it all." She flipped to another page with another illustration. "And look here! What's that? Is that. Is that a heart? Or maybe a liver?"  
  
Frodo came over to take a look. "Well, if you can't tell us, none of us can help. You're the smart one of the bunch."  
  
"Ooooo, I don't want to look," Daisy cringed. "I'll get sick."  
  
"This is fascinating!" Ruby exclaimed, thumbing through more and more pages.  
  
"Well, we've lost her again to another book," Pippin said. "Just like when she was a kid."  
  
"Somebody help her back into her chair so I can get to my letter," Robin protested. "We won't hear from Ruby again for another hour, so we might as well get this thing wrapped up."  
  
Everyone chuckled as Ruby blushed and put the book away. But she kept it under her arm as she settled back into the chair. 


	15. To Robin

Chapter 15: To Robin  
  
My dearest Cock-Robin,  
  
Everyone in the room burst out into laughter.  
  
"What???" Robin frowned. "How.? Why that old so-in-so. Not even my friends call me that to my face!"  
  
"Yes they do," Tom laughed until he cried.  
  
"Corabell Newkirk said it to your face after she slapped you at the Green Dragon last night!" Bilbo crowed. Everyone giggled and tried to control themselves.  
  
"I asked you to not make me laugh," Ruby panted.  
  
"Would you mind terribly much if I finished this blasted letter, people?" Robin huffed. "I have to get up early tomorrow and open up the bakery, so I want to get out of here as soon as I can." The room quieted down and he continued.  
  
Sorry about the name. I could not help myself. You see, the mirrors do show a lot of, um, detail when you concentrate. And, my lad, you seen to have no compunctions about showing off your extremely fine detail. At least to the ladies of the town.  
  
That brought another round of laughter. Robin's normally tanned face was burning a bright crimson from fine pointed ear tip to ear tip. "Shut up, will you? Let me get on with this." He cleared his throat.  
  
I thought long and hard about your legacy. For underneath all your bravado and public courting of the ladies, you are a decent gentlehobbit with simple wants and desires. Easily pleased and pleasing in return to all fortunate enough to meet you.  
  
"Now, that's more like it, Uncle Frodo," Robin smiled.  
  
"Aw, go on," Hamfast said.  
  
So I present you with a hidden treasure only your skills can bring back to life.  
  
"Huh?" Goldilocks said, sitting forward in the rocking chair. "Bring back to life?"  
  
"Shush, Goldie. Let the lad finish," Elanor waved at her from across the room.  
  
Your gift is in the chest at the foot of my bed. I do hope they have lasted through the years. I really should not worry about that, since they come from the Golden Woods of Lothlorien. The Lady Galadriel tells me they will last in their current state for an entire age of Men. Her lembas certainly lasted longer than I could have ever dreamed. Hopefully, you will use them before that.  
  
They are more precious than gold to one who can unlock their slumber. A gift of the Elves to a master baker.  
  
Much love, Uncle Frodo  
  
"How does he DO that?" Hamfast murmured again.  
  
Daisy brought out a wooden box from the bottom of the chest. It was of a silvery-brown wood. Pippin went over to inspect the unusual box.  
  
"This reminds me of something." he mused. "Let me see. Oh yes. Dad had a little box made out of this same type wood. He said it came from the Golden Lady and had the Party Tree nut inside it, along with some dirt from that realm. I bet this is mallorn wood, though why anybody would sacrifice a mallorn tree for the wood is beyond me. They are so rare."  
  
"It must have come from an already-dead one," Elanor commented, "since the Elves never chop down a tree for any reason."  
  
"What's inside?" Merry asked.  
  
Robin opened the lid. Inside were three identical tins. Robin opened all three to reveal hard cakes of a whitish substance, each wrapped in waxy leaves. Robin frowned and sniffed at the cakes. His eyes lighted up.  
  
"Soap?" Faramir asked.  
  
"It's a block of yeast!" he said. "Actually, three different types of yeasts. Wow! I could become rich with this if I could only figure out how to bloom them without killing them."  
  
"Don't you have enough yeast already?" Rose asked. "I mean, you do work in a bakery and all."  
  
"Not like these," Robin said. "I've never smelled anything like them. Completely different. I'll be the talk of Hobbiton! A completely new taste. Wow! I can't wait to show these to the lads at the shop."  
  
Robin rewrapped the cakes into their leaves and carefully placed them inside their tins. He replaced the lid on the mallorn box and carried back to with him to a corner of the room. 


	16. To Tom

Chapter 16: To Tom  
  
"Tom," Daisy nervously cleared her throat, "I don't want to disappoint you, but there's nothing left in the chest."  
  
"Are you sure?" Elanor quietly asked.  
  
"Sorry," Daisy said.  
  
Everyone shifted around in embarrassment for their forgotten brother.  
  
"But there's a letter," Bilbo said from the roll top desk.  
  
"Last and least, as always," Tom sighed and went over to the writing desk. He took the remaining letter and unfolded it.  
  
Dearest ?Tom? or is it Tolman?  
  
I do apologize. I cannot seem to see clearly this far into the future, or is it only that my strength of will has grown too weak as my time draws to a close? Are you Tom? Only just come through your coming-of- age? I am not certain. But if you are here and reading this letter, then you are well-loved and of a fine family.  
  
I cannot discern what is to be for you. Your path is hidden from my eyes, no matter how hard I search the magic waters of time. I cannot see anyone else after you, so I will assume you are the last of Sam and Rose's children. Their final flowering in a lifetime of love. You were/are very much wanted, of that I am certain.  
  
Since I cannot foretell your future needs, I am at a loss as to what to give you. You stand upon the threshold of your life, as I stand at the ending of mine. Your father and mother are gone. Your brothers and sisters have their own lives. And there you stand; alone. In the dark. How may I help you to reach what is your destiny?  
  
I will gift you something which was gifted me to help me find my way when there was no other light to turn to. Your father also used it to help in his hour of deepest doubt and fear. He and I carried it all the way through to the bitter end, and back again. May it also bear you up when you have need of a reminder of all that is good and pure.  
  
My gift to you, last child of the purest heart of the Shire, is in my desk. Look in the topmost right hand drawer for a small, rather weather- beaten blue pouch with a drawstring of Elvish rope. Do not take off the stopper. Ever. Else the last light of the Blessed Tree be lost from this world forever.  
  
One last thing. Now I ask you to do something for me. Would you please read aloud my final message to your brothers and sisters? It is written on the back of this note. Thank you, dearest Tom.  
  
Love, Uncle Frodo  
  
Tom turned the letter over. There was a small message inked in red upon the back.  
  
May the Valar bless you all, heirs of my love.  
Your father and I walk among the trees of Tol Eressea for awhile longer,  
Then we will join your most radiant mother in the world-to-be.  
Namarie, children of my heart.  
Frodo Baggins  
  
Bilbo opened the topmost right hand drawer and pushed his way past a maze of worn out goose quills and dried up ink wells. In the very back of the drawer he found a small bag. He silently handed it to his youngest brother.  
  
The bag was old and travel-worn, with numerous stains upon its plain blue fabric. The drawstring was of a silken grey-green rope, very fine and smooth. It was tightly knotted shut.  
  
Tom could feel a coolness through the cloth. It was as if the object inside the bag was alive in a strange, other-worldly way. He suddenly had a vision of stars and a path through the heavens. Tom looked around anxiously at his siblings, who were all turned so they might see what was inside the dark bag.  
  
Tom's hands trembled as he unfastened the drawstring. The object inside was small, but curiously heavy. His hand could feel a cool smooth surface. It was a glass or crystal vessel of some type. It yearned to be free from the bag. It cried to him, asking to taste the air again and release its long-dormant power.  
  
Tom suddenly understood that he teetered upon a threshold. He sensed that bringing the object out into the open would somehow propel him into the unknown. Into adventure. Into danger and uncertainty. Or possibly into glory and song. Should he do it? Or should he remain at home, the forgotten thirteenth child of a lowly gardener? Safe and secure and loved, but unremarkable.  
  
In one smooth movement Tom grasped the glass, removed the bag, and held it into the light. It flashed and glowed brilliantly in the sun, swelling its own light as the room blazed in the glory of a thousand stars.  
  
It was the Light of the Future. The Light of Earendil.  
  
***** A/N: Gentle readers. I do not usually place author's notes in my stories, but this one is special. Today, August 19th, my brother died. He was a kind, gifted young man of 44 years. A life-long bachelor who played string bass and loved collecting musical instruments and old cars. His death ends a life-long battle with heart disease. I feel very much like Frodo right now, unstuck in time. I love my brother. I loved him. I hope to see him in the next world. This story is dedicated to the memory of my most beloved brother, Standley Jefferson Wood. Namarie. 


End file.
